A Tale of One City
by CalefacientCore
Summary: There is an infection spreading throughout the city and people are dying in droves. Peter Parker is determined to find the cause of it all; Dr. Alex Mercer, the terrorist of Penn Station.
1. Chapter 1

There was a viral outbreak; it was all over the news. Penn Station had been the target of the terrorist attack and the people in the area had already started dying from it. Dr. Alex Mercer was the culprit, every news channel knew his face but no one seemed to have known where he could have gone. When the police had gone to check his apartment they'd met with explosives. The anchorman had solemnly told how the explosion had not only killed most of the men on the scene but caused debris that had hit the police helicopter's blades and caused it to crash, killing both pilots. The police were offering rewards for anyone with information about Mercer and his sister, who had not yet been found.

It was awful, Peter decided, as he turned off the television. He sighed as he moved over to the window to rest his forehead on the cool glass and closed his eyes. It was simply beyond him how some people could be so vicious to their fellow man. It wasn't like a villainous attack, like the Green Goblin in all his craziness or Kingpin in his strives for maintaining his power over the criminal world. It was one man and possibly his sister, letting loose a virus among innocent citizens for some stupid reason.

He'd followed the emergency vehicles to Penn Station. When he got there there were already men in hazard suits crawling all over the place and every minute or so they'd be dragging out a full body bag. The ambulances were turned away, there were no survivors and the police were too unprotected to even enter the area. Instead they formed a semicircle of protection to keep anyone else from coming near. Peter curled his fingers into a fist, he'd felt so helpless, unable to do anything useful despite his powers, he raised his fist and then brought it slowly down to meet the glass. He couldn't afford to take out his anger out on his window; he didn't have the money to replace it or a good enough heater to battle the cold New York air he'd be letting in.

Heck, he couldn't even go out and take his frustrations out on any baddies. Everyone was advised to stay inside until the authorities could determine how far the virus had spread. Anyone with a cough, a feeling of cold, nausea, and, in extreme cases, puking up _blood_, was advised to call in to a number that was almost constantly on display on television and repeated on the radio. Call now! If the men in the blue suits get there after thirty minutes you get a free ride in a body bag! Peter snorted at the thought and opened his eyes and shifted his weight so that he was now looking down on the people below. And there were a lot of them for all that they should be inside. Most of them even looked like they had some place that they could go home to.

As he watched, one girl in clothes far too rich for _his_ neighborhood walked by with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Peter couldn't stop himself from glaring at her. If she was so cold, why was she outside late at night in a bad neighborhood with a deadly virus maybe in the very air she was breathing? Some times he just couldn't understand people. He watched her until she was out of sight. Maybe he should follow her? It didn't look like any one had even noticed her but it was still dangerous. He pushed himself away from the window and headed to the door. He reached for the doorknob and paused, he didn't have his suit on underneath his clothes. He thought about at least grabbing it but that girl was getting farther away every second.

His mind warred over it for a second more before he was out the door and heading down the stairs. It was cold out and he immediately wished he had his suit on just for the little extra layer it would give. He merged into the crowd after catching sight of the girl. She was moving pretty slowly and she didn't once lift her head to see where she was going. It only took him a minute to catch up to her. Once he got close enough he quickly realized something was wrong.

Her face was pale, her eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused, and she made soft pained moaning sounds. Suddenly feeling a lot more concerned he started forward to ask if she was all right but she suddenly jerked forward and vomited. Everyone started backing away from her quickly and it soon became clear why; there was blood. Peter felt himself go cold; she had the virus.

He wanted to help but his common sense wouldn't let him. He joined the small crowd around her. Most of them were watching in horror as she vomited again and a few others were bringing out their phones, one guess as to whom they were calling. It was an agonizing minute before she stopped, then she stood up and swayed a little on the spot. Once she seemed to get her balance back she put her arms around her stomach again and hunched over, not to keep herself warm, as Peter had thought, but because she was in pain. He focused on the concrete at his feet; he couldn't stand to watch her struggle with her obvious pain. He knew he should leave her, that he needed to get away from the danger of the virus but he couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't help her but he couldn't leave her.

There were gasps in the crowd and Peter's head shot up. The girl was trying to walk away. People in the crowd were at once more than willing to get out of her way. He had to stop her, though. She was highly contagious and she needed to stay where she was until help arrived. He steeled himself and started heading towards her, detouring around the blood, he was about to take her hold of her arm when the vans started showing up. The men in the blue suits started coming out… along with some really creepy looking guys in black suits. They looked like military guys but their clothes were mostly black and they all had masks on. Peter started at them before realizing his arm was still outstretched. Embarrassed, he let it fall back to his side.

They were quick to spot her. Peter supposed that the circle of people around her was a dead give away. Probably the blood that had gotten on her shirt helped too. One of the guys in blue started checking her with some strange instrument. He put it away and then tilted her face up. He nodded back to the soldiers who helped get her into one of the vans. Then they turned their attention on the crowd.

One man came out of one of the vans. He was dressed a little differently but he still looked like one of the soldiers.

"We're going to need all of you to line up. You've been in contact with someone infected with the virus from Penn Station. We need to make sure none of you have caught it."

It wasn't long until more people came out of the vans. Some of them headed over to deal with the traffic, which was being blocked by the vans. Others started bringing out large pieces of equipment. Peter uneasily got in line behind a man with a cough. He knew it could just be a cold but being near the man made his skin crawl now the he _knew_ the virus had made its way to his neighborhood. He shuddered when he thought about how he had been about to touch that girl. What would have happened if he had gotten it? Somehow these men, especially the dangerous looking men in the black soldier suits, made the whole thing more real and more terrifying.

When the man in front of him got the all clear he let out a sigh of relief. Then it was his turn. The man had a rod in one hand that was attached to a large piece of metal. He'd certainly never seen anything like it in a hospital. He had to stand still as the man waved the rod around his body. It made a few static-y noises that made his hair stand on end but he was given the all clear, too.

Feeling a lot more paranoid, he carefully avoided everyone as best he could on his way home. When he got into his apartment the first thing he did was throw off his clothes and head to the shower. Once he felt clean enough, having washed possibly imaginary virus cooties off of him, he headed to bed.

He wondered, staring outside the window, how many people were going to get sick and if that girl was going to be okay. She was young, she didn't deserve what was happening to her and neither did those people at Penn Station. Tomorrow he was going to start looking for Dr. Mercer and he was going to find him and bring him to justice.

**x**

**xXx**

**x**

I don't remember much of the Marvel Universe and I haven't really been keeping up on what's currently happening in it. So, likely, Peter will be the only hero showing up. Also, my knowledge about him may be a bit inaccurate. Sorry.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter crawled around the side of the building cautiously. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on the soldiers below while also making sure that no one from the inside spotted him. He should have waited a little while longer, after all who knew how many would be in the apartment itself. Well, what was left of it, he amended, peering up at the cracked and destroyed windows.

It would be a couple more stories before he made it, but he didn't want to alert any of the men who may be inside, also looking for clues. Those guys were creepy, he'd seen more than a few just walking to the Daily Bugle this morning. It set him on edge, seeing them carrying guns and wearing gas masks. He supposed it might be necessary if there were more terrorists or if they were working at Penn Station, but seeing their caution made him want his own gas mask.

The girl vomiting blood cut into his thoughts. Watching her being taken into the back of a van, surrounded by black suited soldiers and men in hazmat suits had disturbed him considerably. What if he ended up catching the virus? Would he have to risk those men discovering who he was if he wanted any chance for a cure or would he have to face a very good chance of dying from it? He mentally shook off the thought; he could worry about it later. Maybe he could make a gas mask of his own.

Feeling slightly better with that in mind, he crawled up to just below the window with the most damage. He listened carefully for any footsteps, voices, or even breathing for a minute before taking a deep breath and pulling himself into Dr. Mercer's apartment. It was completely destroyed; the windows were blown out and the doors were gone. The standard yellow 'Do Not Cross' tape blocked off the hallway, or rather; the apartment was blocked by it.

He didn't think he'd find anything but he could look anyway and besides, Jameson wanted some pictures about the terrorist attack and Peter had already found out, by the way of a very strict soldier, that Penn Station was still off limits to anyone without military clearance. The best shot he could get of it was from the top of a building across the street. It wasn't a bad shot; it showed the military and news crews milling about the edges.

Unfortunately, Jameson didn't always have the same opinion of his photos as he did. He wondered if a picture of the apartment would work as a back up plan. It would have to, he decided. He ducked under the tape and retreated into the hallway. He snapped a couple of shots of the room in all its glorious destruction.

With that taken care of, Peter slipped back in and took a closer look around the apartment. There really wasn't anything left. He rubbed the back of his head after looking through a busted down door and finding what he assumed to have once been a bedroom; it was a little too charred to tell.

It certainly explained why no one else was up here investigating. What could they possibly find in this mess? He didn't even think he could ask the neighbors; no sounds were coming from any of the other apartments on this level, he hadn't really seen anyone in the other windows, and he'd seen no one but those military guys coming in or out the front doors. A bit discouraged, he decided to leave. He'd get his photos developed and see how much Mr. Jameson was willing to pay for them. Hopefully more than the last few he'd taken. He was getting dangerously close to needing a second job.

oOoOo

"Hey, Betty," Peter said as he exited Mr. Jameson's office. "Does Mr. Jameson seem a bit… off today?"

Betty snorted as she handed him his paycheck, "Yeah, you could say that. We've been informed that we can only say so much in the paper about the Penn Station attack."

"They can do that?" Peter asked while he calculated in his head what he could cut out of his budget.

"Apparently they can and Mr. Jameson is not happy about it."

Peter looked back into Jameson's office as Robbie headed in, and saw Jameson just as he was before; arms crossed, seething, and terrifyingly silent.

"So, what exactly aren't we allowed to talk about?" Peter asked.

Betty leaned forward, "I don't know, Mr. Jameson received a phone call telling him exactly what he could put in the paper. Anything else, they said, could be a threat to Mercer's capture and that we would be held responsible. They've also told us to put this in our paper." Betty picked up a flyer and held it out to him. Peter recognized it to be a miniature version of the flyers he'd seen all around: a list of symptoms of the virus and what to do 'if you or someone you knew' had it.

"So, they've got a lead on him and they don't want us telling?" He asked, after a moment.

"Probably," she nodded as she turned to answer a call.

If the military was already on him, then they didn't really need Peter snooping around. But he couldn't deny wanting to know, anyway. It couldn't really hurt to have another person looking for Dr. Mercer, could it?

Robbie would likely know what they wouldn't be able to put in the paper; he just needed a way to ask him about it. And a time to ask, he added; he'd be a little too obvious if he stood around waiting for him to come out of Jameson's office, especially after he'd already gotten paid for the day.

He quickly left the Bugle and decided to head home to scrounge up something to eat then and use the remaining daylight to deal with some bad guys. Not that he would likely need to do much, he stopped and thought, as a tank, a freaking_ tank_, passed him. It took a left and disappeared from sight. Why on Earth would they need a tank? Maybe that was how they managed to take control of the newspaper away from Jameson. It certainly made it easier to believe.

The heavy firepower was certainly worth investigating, though. Masks and some guns made some sense, tanks did not. Besides, it was certainly a better idea to look into that than aimlessly swing around the rest of the day trying to catch bad guys who would probably be a bit more difficult to find with all those military guys hanging around. And, he thought brightly, he'd be investigating the situation without having to wait till tomorrow. If they needed tanks in Manhattan, they obviously weren't telling the public something about the situation. And, maybe, that something was what they were trying to keep newspapers from printing.

With a sense of purpose restored, he started heading toward the crosswalk, and then he started jogging as he realized that people were already starting to head across. He really needed to remember to move and think at the same time. On his way home he saw two more tanks and a helicopter that didn't look like the ones the news or the tours used.

Three blocks away from his apartment building and his trusty Spider-sense reared its head with a tingling in the back of his skull and had him dodging a hand that had nearly collided with his face. Startled, he looked on as the guy in the business suit who'd just tried to hit him stormed past. As Peter stared after him, the man's left hand shot out and hit one woman hard in the shoulder and sent her stumbling into a wall.

"Watch it, asshole!" She shouted after him as she rubbed her arm. The rude jerk didn't even turn around. Peter glared after him, along with nearly everyone else watching, as he pushed an old man out of the way next. Tying the guy up in webbing and leaving him hanging somewhere would certainly feel good but there were worse people in the world than bullies, so teaching him a lesson in common decency would have to take a backseat.

Peter did, however, glower after the guy until he disappeared from sight leaving a wake of angry people behind him. It took him a moment after that to recognize that his adrenaline was pumping and that his whole body was tense: alert. Something about that guy just rubbed him the wrong way. His agitation at the worst of the mundane sort of evil quickly turned into exasperation as he realized that he had once again stopped moving.

At this rate, he thought as he continued on, he wouldn't have time to eat anything and still have daylight left.


End file.
